The Lure of the Sea
by hobgoblin123
Summary: Gerald Tarrant aka Hawthorne has to make a choice once again. Will he take a wife and settle down or follow his true love to unknown (well, not quite) shores? As usual I suck at summaries. Slash Tarrant/Vryce
1. Chapter 1

**The Lure of the Sea**

Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended

Warnings: slash, but nothing too explicit

A/N: Actually this story is short enough for a oneshot, but I'm quite busy at the moment, and I don't know when I will find some time to finish it. Anyway it's very quiet in our fandom at the moment, and for that reason I decided to split it up into two or maybe three chapters and post at least the first one. For the next six weeks I might not be able to update, and I apologize for the delay in advance (haven't even started the next chapter of 'Love is stronger...'. Sigh!).

A/N 2: Usually I'm very wary of using female original characters because of the infamous Mary-Sue problem. But believe me, friends: Although I'm indeed blond and blue-eyed I'm not seventeen (far from it, in fact), and even if Gerald Tarrant's my favourite character in all the hundreds of books I've read so far marrying him is not on my agenda. I treasure my (debatable) sanity and my life!:-D

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Gerald dreamed. Somewhere deep down in the recesses of his unconscious mind he knew that he was dreaming, but he didn't want to wake up. Not yet, while the soft lull of the waves that were gently rocking him and the muscular frame pressed firmly to his own was luring him deeper and deeper into this pleasant mirage, his sharp mind for once willingly surrendering to this impossible but yet so sweet illusion.

The wind and the waves were stronger now, and clinging to each other like drowning men and their sighs and whispers mingling with the moaning of the sea their naked bodies moved with them, harder and faster and more and more. The pleasure rose to a nigh to unbearable intensity, made him squirm and gasp for air and tightened his muscles to hard knots, his perfectly manicured fingernails marking his lover's back with bloody crescents. When the raging storm was over them and a flash of lightning tore the night sky apart his eyes slipped shut, and he wasn't ashamed that his cry of release drowned out the hollow rumble of thunder.

His breath still coming in harsh gasps while his body was riding out the last waves of his climax the adept woke up with a start, the howling of the storm and the creaking of the rigging still ringing in his ears. Although he could almost taste the salty spray on his lips the stale air in his hotel room didn't speak of freedom and new adventures but was heavy with the musky scent of sex, and the soaked sheets below his abdomen were unpleasantly sticky. Disgusted Gerald wrinkled his nose. Most certainly he needed a good long soak in the bathtub as usual when he had dreamed of the damned priest, but before he could put his plan into action his bed-partner stirred at his side with a faint, sleepy moan.

Stifling a sigh Gerald opened his eyes and faced reality in form of the slender, shapely and definitely female body of Gracelin O'Meara that had replaced the bulk of the priest. Sweet seventeen and willing to worship the ground he walked the handsome, wealthy stranger who had burst into her quiet life with her widowed mother must indeed have been a teenager's dream come true. Buying a hot pastry from a market stall hadn't been his usual style, but still avidly testing the deep waters of his freshly regained mortality he'd been open to some new experiences, and he'd felt attracted to the comely girl with her easy smile and her guileless sapphire eyes looking at the world with the wide eyed wonder of an innocent child, a concept so alien to him that it had kept him enthralled for a while.

Gerald had stumbled into this emotional entanglement virtually by accident, but he was very well aware that he was offered a unique chance for picking up the pieces and starting life all over again. His body was young and fully functional, and putting a ring on Gracie's finger and founding a new line, this time hopefully without any complications, didn't seem such a bad idea after all.

For a moment Hawthorne wondered what his offspring might look like, and his curiosity was seriously piqued. With regard to the fact that it had been encouraged by a cocked crossbow his final shape-shift had been a rather hasty, impromptu affair, and the adept hadn't been able to verify whether his genes had been altered along with his appearance yet. Siring children proved to be a fascinating experiment indeed for a passionate scientist who had always regretted that mating in bird form had been out of the question in his undead state.

Gerald pushed down his surge of excitement, and gazing at the young girl he focussed on more urgent matters again. Gracelin doubtlessly was aesthetically pleasing, rather bright though lamentably uneducated and young and submissive enough to be wax in his hands. Even without access to the fae he could easily mold her into the woman he wanted, and after having expanded her limited horizons to his taste they would sit peacefully by the fireplace and while away the time by stimulating discussions on every conceivable topic from politics to technology.

A dim memory of a another fireplace in a gorgeous white Revivalist castle welled up from a secret place hidden deeply inside him, accompanied by unsettling reminiscences of a beautiful, heart-shaped face, reddish golden hair and a soft voice. How they had loved to sit side by side on the rare occasions when he had had no obligations to King Gannon or the church he had founded, arms around each other and gazing at the flickering flames while discussing everything under the sun. Although fiercely protective regarding her family Almea had been a gentle woman, and he had mercifully been spared sullen pouts or the widely feared bouts of female capriciousness.

_You vulking bastard! _The gruff voice inside his head was but a whisper, but Gerald flinched as if the damned priest had yelled the words right into his ears. How could Vryce dare to haunt him while he was honouring the memory of his late wife who had paid the ultimate price for securing his survival?

_Because you can just as well admit that you miss that blunt, presumptuous ass in the guise of a man_, Gerald thought wryly. _You even miss his tasteless clothes, his jarring, foul-mouthed cussing and his never-ending bickering. And don't you forget those wet dreams with the priest as the main protagonist which plague you each and every night no matter how often you've already found fulfillment...  
_

Pushing down that unwelcome train of thoughts the adept focussed his attention on his lover again. After a thousand years in attendance of the Forces of the Dark he wouldn't exactly have called himself an expert on human emotions any longer, but while he was looking down on Grace's childlike face framed by golden curls, watching the sleeping girl intently, he tried to analyze his feelings for her. A certain amused affection was undeniable, the kind of fondness he might have felt for a helpless puppy licking his hands and wagging its tail, begging to be taken home, and for that he was grateful. In his own time many a couple had founded their marriage on mutual respect and affection without succumbing to the blind madness of passion, and why shouldn't this tried and tested method work for him and Grace? At his age he really could do without raging hormones and foolish declarations of eternal love, or so he tried to convince himself, but if he married the girl and settled down there would be no wild, untameable ocean carrying him to unknown destinations while strong arms were cradling him, sheltering him from harm as they had done countless times before.

Muttering a vicious curse reserved for very special occasions under his breath Hawthorne got up and made for the bathroom. After he had bid farewell to his former ally on Black Ridge Pass he had resigned himself to the fact that he mustn't meet him ever again if he didn't want to jeopardize his continuing existence. By seeking out Vryce and hinting at the _possibilities_ he had already taken an incalculable risk, but he owed Damien, owed him more than he could ever pay back even if he was destined to live for another thousand years, and honour had simply demanded that he had eased the priest's terrible burden of guilt and shame.

_Don't use your honour or what's left of it as a pretext, your damned hypocrite_, the adept reprimanded himself. In fact he had yearned to set eyes on that ruggedly attractive face again very much in the manner of a moonstruck teenager, and hopefully the warrior knight would never know how close he had come to throwing all caution to the wind and flinging his arms around Vryce's neck. Notwithstanding somehow he had managed to walk away without looking back once, and everything would have been fine and dandy if he hadn't overheard a very interesting conversation at the Coach and Horses a week ago.

Gerald had never believed in fate, a pathetic excuse for those too lazy and inept to take matters into their own hands, but involuntarily eavesdropping on the excited chatter of a group of merchants occupying the neighbouring table he had been forced to reconsider the wisdom of his verdict. Another expedition across Novatlantis would set sail in roundabout two months, and at the mentioning of its adventurous leader and the ship's captain the adept had very nearly dropped his glass of wine. Since then he hadn't had a single moment's peace of mind, dreaming of Vryce and the ocean again and again until his adamant resolve to let the bygones be bygones was slowly but surely crumbling into dust.

Cursing again Hawthorne shrugged off his annoyance at his evident obsession with the thrice damned priest and tried to concentrate on his badly needed morning toilet, but he hadn't come farther than brushing his teeth when the door flew open and Grace rushed into the bathroom, making a beeline for the toilet with a shaking hand clamped over her mouth. What the hell...? Listening to her gut-wrenching retching while absentmindedly patting her back Gerald couldn't help but wondering what on Earth and Erna had struck his lover out of the blue. In stark contrast to her normal bubbly demeanour the girl had been unusually quiet and subdued for the last few days, but certainly nothing had indicated a serious illness. In the next instance another memory of a time long gone by resurfaced with a vengeance, and the adept had to sit down on the rim of the bathtub rather abruptly, his heart in his mouth.

Due to his campaigns for king and country Gerald regrettably had missed most of Almea's first two pregnancies, but he had been at home when his wife had carried their only daughter Alix, and even after all those years he still remembered how an especially bad case of morning sickness which in fact had spanned the whole day had made the life of his beloved a misery in spite of all those utterly useless cures the incompetent quacks calling themselves healers had prescribed. Fearing that his intervention would somehow harm their child Almea had preferred to stoically suffer in silence for as long as humanly possible, but finally the Neocount of Merentha had put his foot down and had risked a Working, and that had been the end of the matter.

A Healing unfortunately was out of the question on a planet which didn't allow access to the fae any longer if the Worker wasn't willing to offer his life, and Gerald had no intention whatsoever of dying for the sake of his lover's stomach. Feeling slightly lightheaded the adept closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Although he had taken certain precautions evidently the die had been cast, and if he wasn't completely mistaken he would soon find out whether his child had inherited Gerald Tarrant's famed looks or his genes had indeed been altered during the final transformation in the bowels of the Hunter's keep.

After he had led his chalky white lover back to the bed without mentioning his suspicions and Grace had dozed off again Gerald pondered his options. Although the breaking of the Unnamed's hold over his thought processes and his return to the ranks of the living had triggered some unexpected developments the adept didn't feel in the least inclined to lend himself to illusions concerning his personality. After all those centuries spent as an undead creature of the night the patina of human behaviour and social graces hiding a veritable abyss of less desirable character traits was still but very thin, but whatever could be said about him he wasn't an amoral swine who used a woman just to drop her in times of trouble. If Gracie truly was pregnant... His mind reeling Hawthorne almost jumped out of his skin when an ear-splitting, mischievous cackle heralded the appearance of a well-known entity he could have absolutely done without for the time being, and only nigh to a thousand years' practice of stringent self-control prevented him from burying his face in his hands with an exasperated groan.

"Did you get yourself in hot water once again, Gerald?" Karril chuckled gleefully. "One ought to think that at your age you had learned how to avoid the pitfalls of human biology. Well, I'd say you'll invite me to your wedding and choose me as a godfather!" the Iezu added with a wicked grin threatening to bring Hawthorne's blood to a boil.

Fuming the former Hunter rounded on the chubby figure clad in loosely girdled velvet robes. "Kindly stop talking nonsense, Karril. You very well know I'm an adept, and before the fae was lost our kind never had to worry about unplanned conception. And now get off my back! I have to think."

"Think? Seems to me you did a lot of _thinking_ lately, mainly of a certain handsome priest. Can't help wondering though how he's going to fit in your current family planning. Your touching pining after Damien had just convinced me that you had something altogether different in mind. Admittedly Gerald Tarrant made bad experiences in his youth, but..."

That touched a very sore spot, and the adept was on his feet in a blink. "Cut it out at once!" he exploded, his hands balled into fists and a red mist of wrath clouding his eyesight. Realizing to his dismay he was completely and utterly losing his composure Gerald started to count backwards from ten, but it was about as helpful as counting sheep while dreading one of his brothers' nightly assaults. A tanned, bearded face once very dear to him popped up inside his overwrought mind, and he swallowed convulsively. Good heavens, how those uncalled for reminiscences still hurt after all those years! "If you value your existence you'd better keep your debatable wisdom to yourself, you damned know-it-all!" he spat venomously. "That subject is not up to discussion! Touch on it again, and we are going to find out if the Hunter truly was the only man capable of sending a meddling Iezu to hell."

All mirth gone from his face the God of Pleasure warily retreated a few steps. "Calm down, Gerald. I meant no harm. I just thought the moment for you becoming a family man is quite mistimed with the object of your desire due to embark on his journey in a few weeks. The priest won't be back for a long time if at all, and..."

"Don't start that crap all over again, Karril!" Hawthorne irritably cut the Iezu short, his temper still close to boiling point. "Just because you can't think of anything else but pleasing your needs you shouldn't judge others by your own standards. Vryce most certainly is _not_ the object of my desire, and I can very well live without his infuriating presence. When will you ever get that into your thick head?"

Karril's face was unusually grave now, and all at once the adept almost felt sorry for his outburst. "May I remind you that when I repeatedly defied Iezu law and put my very existence on the line to save the Hunter's shapely butt I didn't go out for pleasure but for rescuing a friend, but that's not the point now. You can ply the human art of self-deception to your heart's content, my friend, but that won't change the fact that you have a crush on Damien. Don't let the losses of the past cloud your judgement and make you blow what could be your last chance to find true happiness! And now I'm off to look for more inspiring company to _please my needs_ and leave you to your thinking."

A heartbeat later the God of Pleasure was gone without a trace, and Hawthorne started to pace like a caged animal, counting his blessings that presumably thanks to one of Karril's little tricks Gracelin was still fast asleep despite the rather animated discussion. The last thing he needed on top of his worries now was a distressed child having a cry on his shoulder. The adept didn't cherish the illusion that he could somehow bypass that embarrassing moment of truth, but until then he'd better come to terms with himself. Whether he liked it or not Karril evidently had a point, and denying the obvious was beyond foolhardy. Maybe said die had already been cast when he had set eyes on the priest for the first time in that dae in Briand, and although the bittersweet memories of Gannon and what could have been were still burning his soul like the acid fumes of Mount Shaitan there was no use crying over milk spilt a thousand years ago. With difficulty Gerald banished the painful past into the deepest recesses of his mind and set about making what could represent one of the most important choices in an existence spanning a millennium.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two  
**

Warnings: none (well, maybe a kind of teaser warning, because a paragraph alludes to the story about Gerald and Gannon I still want to write some day)

A/N 1: Hooray, somehow I managed to write another chapter despite my tight schedule. It might not be a stroke of genius, but at least it's a piece of reading matter.

A/N 2: Let's just presume that the term 'egghead' as a pejorative labelling for an intellectual is still known on Erna, okay?

A/N 3: The galleon of course was named after the famous starship 'Enterprise'... I don't own anything, as usual.

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Roundabout eight weeks and what felt like hundreds of tearful discussions later Hawthorne boarded the proud galleon called 'Enterprise' with a grinning Karril in tow who had insisted that he wouldn't want to miss what was to come for all the delights his temple had to offer. In fact the Iezu hadn't stopped his jarring smirking and his meaningful winks since he had informed him about his travelling plans, and Gerald got the distinct impression that the God of Pleasure was enjoying himself tremendously. Lamentably for the time being Karril seemed to be the only one having the time of his life. A consultation with a midwife had indeed confirmed his suspicion that Gracelin was expecting their child, and true to the strict moral codex of the era he'd been born in a fortnight ago he had married the mother of his unborn child in a modest ceremony bearing no resemblance whatsoever to the pomp and circumstance at his first wedding.

Fortunately money wasn't a problem. Even with approximately half of the wealth accumulated in centuries safely sewed in the lining of his clothes in form of drafts, precious metal and gems there was still enough and to spare that it would allow his wife a life of ease for the rest of her days just in case he wasn't destined to return from his dangerous journey. His new family was well provided for, but to his misfortune Gerald soon had had to discover that unlike his courageous first spouse Gracie wasn't in the least capable of accepting their temporary separation. Bidding farewell to the crying girl who simply didn't understand why on Earth and Erna her husband had to go on that insane journey across Novatlantis instead of pampering her until the birth of their child had been a very unpleasant experience, and at the end of his tether the adept hadn't managed to suppress a sigh of sheer relief when the door of their recently purchased mansion had closed behind him and he had finally been permitted to mount his favourite black stallion.

After he had made sure that his horse was in good hands and stowed away his luggage Gerald left the cramped cabin and made for the upper deck. The weather was as fine as it could be, the sky a clear azure dotted with the occasional fair-weather cloud and the air pleasurably balmy, and leaning against the railing the adept tried to prepare himself for the encounter with the very man who had dragged him back from hell and had rendered it possible that he could relish in the sunshine on his face instead of burning to a pile of ashes. Vryce had looked like ten miles of bad road up there on Black Ridge Pass and there couldn't be a doubt that he had grieved deeply for Gerald Tarrant, but what he would do if confronted with his new self all of a sudden was an altogether different matter.

"That Hawthorne's a_ scholar_? God help us!" a familiar, deep voice cut into his musings, and his heart suddenly in his mouth Gerald wasn't even aware that his hands were convulsing around the iron in a death grip. "Can't understand why our investors are forcing another one of those vulking eggheads upon us at the very last moment. Presumably he'll be a pain in the arse from start to finish, but I'd better say hello and brief him about the dos and don'ts. If we don't keep an eye on him he might go overboard before we've even left the harbour.

Evidently in all those months they hadn't seen each other the damned priest had neither kicked the habit of being a blunt ass nor lost his capacity for rising Gerald's hackles at record speed, and bristling the adept whirled around and drew himself up to his full height, hiding his anger behind a facade of aloof arrogance. "You don't have to worry about my well-being, Vryce. Unlike you I know how to sail," he retorted icily. "If you don't mind I'll remove my disagreeable self from your presence at once. Certainly you've got more urgent matters at hand than wasting your precious time on an _egghead_."

Originally Hawthorne had aimed for a dramatic exit to grant Vryce some time for regretting the futility of his tirade, but the priest's dumbstruck face was truly a sight to behold and rooted him to the spot. His eyes threatening to pop out of his head Damien's mouth opened and closed again repeatedly, but he wasn't able to utter a single sound. Obviously the otherwise so outspoken warrior knight had temporarily lost the capacity for coherent speech, and somewhat mollified the adept decided that Vryce's utterly satisfactory reaction indeed made up for his jarring words, the incessant string of Karril's lewd comments and the flood of tears and pleads which had made his life a misery for the last weeks.

Under the scrutiny of the priest's eyes still staring at him as if the legendary Seven Wonders of the Ancient World on their mother planet Earth had made a sudden appearance right under his nose Gerald felt a weird flutter of excitement blooming inside his stomach, and all at once embarrassingly short of breath he found that he didn't care for the warrior knight's asinine prejudices any longer. "May I introduce myself?" the adept commenced with feigned nonchalance. "Gerald Hawthorne, at your service. I suppose in time you'll find that I won't be _'a pain in your arse from start to finish'_, as you expressed with your accustomed bluntness."

"I'm not so sure if I'll subscribe to that", Damien grumbled softly, but the broad grin slowly spreading over his handsome features belied the gruff reply, and Gerald caught himself smiling back. There was a strange expression in those hazel eyes, an emotion he couldn't quite label yet but which caused his heart to skip a beat just to resume its duty at an accelerated pace, and to his surprise he realized that the sudden weakness in his legs had nothing do to with the gentle motions of the ship.

His mind still occupied with upbraiding himself for a conduct utterly unbefitting a man who had faced death and destruction on more than one occasion without so much as batting an eyelash Hawthorne settled for a more contemporary handclasp instead of bowing as had been the custom in the Revivalist period , but when his golden wedding ring flashed up in the bright sunlight he instantly realized that he had made a terrible blunder. At a moment's notice the light in Vryce's eyes died a sudden death, and blanching he released the adept's hand like a poisonous snake. "Why, you had to be in a terrible hurry to get married, Gerald! May God have mercy on the woman who fell for your pretty face. I just wonder why you're on this ship instead of enjoying the pleasures of marital life."

To his dismay Hawthorne was starting to ask himself the very same question. "Actually it's none of your business, Vryce", he forced out between gritted teeth. "As you very well know I don't make a habit of explaining myself, but as proof of my esteem I'm going to satisfy your curiosity. To put it plainly and simply the whole thing wasn't planned, but certain... circumstances compelled me to enter the state of holy matrimony. Do you get what I mean?"

The priest blinked in confusion, and Gerald thought he could almost hear the gears inside his stubborn head moving, but when the truth was finally dawning on him Vryce's features hardened to an impenetrable mask of stone. "Kindly get off your high horse! I might not be a genius like someone I won't mention, but I'm not daft, and I understand perfectly well. You ensnared her, you got your rocks off, and when you got tired of your latest plaything you made a bolt for it. Same procedure as usual, isn't it?" Damien sneered bitterly, his voice oozing with sarcasm and contempt. "Suppose the poor girl can count herself lucky that you didn't just vanish into thin air and left her to her fate with your child in her belly. But let me guess: your vulking _honour_ demanded that you married the damsel in distress before embarking on your pleasure trip. What a prime example for the knight in shining armour you are!"

"It's not what you think, Vryce. If you just let me explain..."

"You needn't justify yourself, _Mer Hawthorne_. As you've already pointed out your private life's none of my business, and I won't have any of it. I'd rather not spend my time with a cold-hearted bastard though who doesn't give a damn about wreaking havoc on the lives of those deplorable fools stupid enough to trust him. Hope you don't mind I'd prefer to limit our relations to a strictly professional level. And now excuse me. I have an expedition to lead."

Without further ado Damien turned round and stomped off, leaving behind a flabbergasted adept. Obviously something had gone terribly awry with their first meeting after he had left the priest on Black Ridge Pass, and instead of the passionate reunion Hawthorne had foolishly hoped for in private it had represented a rather humbling experience. The adept's brain cells had neither suffered from death and resurrection nor from the final shape-shift, and if he was honest to himself getting some kind of comeuppance for faking his death and making himself scarce throughout all those months had to be expected. After all he had perceived the hurt and grief in the priest's eyes before he had turned his back on him and had wandered off into his new existence. Notwithstanding there couldn't be a doubt that after he had overcome his initial shock his former companion had rejoiced at seeing him again, at least until the accursed wedding ring had come into play.

Cringing at the memory of the bitterness and disdain in Damien's eyes Hawthorne started to leaf through the mental catalogue of human emotions he still wasn't quite reacquainted with, wondering what on Earth and Erna had prompted Vryce's remarkably irrational behaviour. He hadn't come very far when his musings were interrupted by a well- known chuckle inspiring anything but mirth in his current state. "What's wrong with you Gerald? Are you pissed off because your priest gave you the cold shoulder instead of kissing you senseless?"

"Don't pester me with your imbecile questions, Karril. I'm not in the mood for your antics, and if you value your existence you'd better not get on my nerves."

"It's quite unfair to take your love-sickness out on me", the God of Pleasure answered with a grin, evidently utterly unfazed by the overt threat. "As usual I'm here to help you. That's what friends are for, you know?"

With all his might Gerald forced down the unsettling temptation to close his fingers around the Iezu's neck. "How dare you say that, demon? That allegation is outright ridiculous! Let's settle this once and for all before we have to get through this crap again and again: I'm _not_ lovesick, I've _never_ been lovesick and I _will_ never be lovesick! A fine friend you are, and if that's your ballyhooed help you can just as well get lost and throw yourself into the caldera of Mount Shaitan. It would save me a lot of trouble."

"If you say so, my friend, if you say so. I'm sorry for my rash words. Deeply. And now don't be in a huff and tell me what caused Damien to storm off as if the Nameless One were after him."

There was a certain undertone in Karril's deep voice that made Hawthorne doubt the sincerity of his apology, but glowering at him he found nothing but benign interest on the Iezu's face. With a barely perceptible shrug the adept pushed down his annoyance. Penned up on that wretched crate there was enough time to have a long overdue talk about Karril's insolent behaviour later, but for now he could really do with a piece of advice. "Although I'm loth to admit it I truly don't know what's come over Vryce, Karril. At first everything went well enough, but things rapidly changed for the worse when he set eyes on my wedding ring. If I had more reliable data..."

Realizing that the God of Pleasure was goggling at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head Gerald cut himself off and eyed the Iezu with reawakened suspicion, but whatever he had expected he wasn't in the least prepared for his companion's enervating reaction. "Dear Mother of our kind, you're priceless, Gerald" Karril roared, rocking with laughter and slapping his thighs in a most irritating imitation of human behaviour. "I'm only half human and you just called me a demon, but even I don't need _more reliable data_ to tell you what went wrong!"

"Mind enlightening me what's so funny?" Hawthorne ground out exasperatedly, his temper flaring again despite his best intentions.

"What's so funny? You can't be serious! Holy crap, perhaps you should forsake your scholarly ambitions and make a packet of money as a comedian. I haven't had so much fun in centuries!"

Having grown up in the company of eight loathsome siblings who had never missed a chance to humiliate their youngest brother being laughed at unfailingly brought out the worst in Gerald, and unfortunately the present occasion wasn't an exception of the rule. Glaring daggers at his guffawing nemesis he desperately clung to his last vestiges of self-restraint and forced his white lips to move instead of just going for the kill and worrying about the consequences later. "I've had enough, Karril", the former Hunter whispered menacingly. "Are you done with your annoying display of misguided humour, or shall we find out if anything else but apathy can be your undoing?"

Hawthorne's voice was perfectly calm and his youthful features a model example of utter serenity, but the expression in his black eyes doubtlessly told a different story, and with no small amount of satisfaction he noticed that he had gotten the message across and the God of Pleasure instantly thought better of continuing to amuse himself at his expense. Wincing the Iezu refrained from his offensive hooting and raised his hands in a placating gesture. "With regard to your mood I'd rather not elaborate on that topic, my friend, but unless I'm very much mistaken you can form your own opinion about the reason for the priest's anger without my humble assistance. If you hadn't been busy with heaping death threats on me you might have acknowledged that your sweetheart's right there on the quarterdeck. Gaze your fill but don't you forget to collect your precious data! Just in case you want to talk you can find me in my cabin."

In the next instance Karril was gone, and turning around Gerald's gaze fixed on a rather interesting tableau. Vryce was indeed on the quarterdeck, tending to one of the young cabin boys who apparently had received a minor injury while carrying out his duty. After adding the finishing touches to the bandage around the wounded hand Vryce mussed the youth's hair and comforted him with a warm hug, and very much to the adept's chagrin the sparkling green eyes looking up to his former ally were shining with an expression Hawthorne instantly recognized as a very bad case of hero worship.

His body and soul suddenly aflame as if he were back on the iron bars he'd been roasting on for eight miserable days the adept finally realized what kind of feeling had been responsible for Damien's irascible reaction, and he clenched his fists until his nails left bleeding crescents in his palms. If that boy had been capable of reading his thoughts he surely would have jumped overboard and swum for dear life instead of clinging to his hero like a damned leech, but cutting the impertinent bastard's throat out of the question for the time being the Gerald opted for breathing deeply and averting his eyes from the offending scene instead.

Trying to get his bearings again the adept blindly stared at the wharfage and the numerous doggers and passenger liners without perceiving anything but his bleak inner vista that tortured him with the rather jarring obsessive idea of Vryce and his juvenile adorer sampling the pleasures of the flesh. Admittedly the boy was very young, maybe fifteen or sixteen at most, but that wasn't an insurmountable obstacle for men with certain appetites. In fact he himself hadn't been older when he had lain with Gannon for the first time and barely seventeen when his father's unscrupulous machinations had very nearly cost him his life. His lover's retaliation strike for his abduction and the resulting disaster had come swift and merciless, but what had happened couldn't be undone anymore, and somehow things had never been quite the same again.

The bitter memory of a time long gone by slowly but surely dispersed the clouds of hormone-fuelled wrath fogging his mind, and coming to his senses again Gerald called himself to order. Insinuating that an honest, honourable man like Vryce would indulge in illicit sexual relations with dependents defied all logic, not to mention that while browsing through the warrior knight's mind for his benefit he had never found the faintest trace of such dispositions.

Breathing a sigh of relief Hawthorne at long last dared to let go of the railing he had been wringing in exchange for a slender but grimy neck. The small but quite deep wounds his fingernails had left were still bleeding, and the adept's delicate nostrils flared as the utterly familiar scent was invoking sweet reminiscences of the thrill of the hunt and the orgiastic release of pent-up need when he had finally taken down his beautiful game. Losing himself in the past the pale ghost of a gnawing hunger compelling beyond human reckoning suddenly rose its ugly head with a vengeance, and although he didn't need the blood any longer to sustain himself he brought up his hands and licked the red drops away, relishing in the uniquely piquant aroma of copper and salt that had determined the parameters of his very existence for centuries.

From far, far away Vryce's good-natured laughter cut through the primitive surge of blood-lust, and Gerald froze, horrified at the sudden resurfacing of a persona which should have died for good on Mount Shaitan. The delicate taste of blood was still lingering on his tongue, and trembling with a weird mixture of greed and repulsion he resisted the urge to rinse his mouth with the next available bucket of saltwater just by a very small margin.

Hawthorne had suspected for quite a while now that a remainder of the undead entity called the Hunter had survived deep down in the unfathomable abysses of his soul, lying dormant like a huge, monstrous creature patiently waiting for the right opportunity to stretch its scaly wings and break out of his deceptively human shell. His eerie regression and the burning desire to rid the world of that little brat without even confirming his suspicion were but a small reminder of its existence, a languid flexing of its lethal claws which didn't pose a real threat for a self-control steeled in centuries, but only God knew what would happen if the beast managed to escape from its prison of mortal flesh one fine day. Perhaps Vryce had seen through the thin veneer of humanity and had recognized him for what he truly was, an ancient soul so tainted by evil deeds beyond human reckoning that the God of their faith had turned away from him with a shudder.

The prospect that the warrior knight had recoiled from his corruption was amazingly painful, but remembering the joy and affection in Damien's beautiful hazel eyes the adept dismissed the thought. Unlike Damien wearing sackcloth and ashes had never been an option to him, and he had no intention whatsoever of changing that attitude at his advanced age. In all probability Karril with his absurd fondness of humans had had the right instinct, and the priest hadn't been turned off by his less than philanthropic disposition but by the fact that the man he desired was already taken. Theoretically. Apparently Vryce was jealous, jealous of a wife he had never met, and maybe they could still set the record straight and start again from scratch. Suddenly the future didn't look that grim any longer, and the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile Gerald straightened and focussed his attention on the bustling port.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Disclaimer: I still don't own the Coldfire Trilogy.

Warnings: unabashed slash, but I tried to restrain my thoroughly dirty mind, lol.

A/N 1: I know that there's more than one moon on Erna and that a 'man in the moon' isn't mentioned somewhere in the books, but let's presume that something similar exists, okay?

A/N 2: Please don't get annoyed with me for repeatedly hinting at incidents that happened a thousand years ago (in my stories, not in the books). I know that the plot should focus on the relationship between Gerald and Damien, but in my humble opinion the experiences you gained naturally influence your present day decisions, and for once Tarrant isn't a exception of the rule...;-). Anyway I truly hope some fine day I'll find the time to continue writing my Gerald/Gannon story, provided that Morgana doesn't mind another case of convergent evolution. We've already talked about it once, but before I post the first chapter I'd like to touch base with her again, just to be sure. I hope you'll be back with us soon, lovey!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A month later there were in the middle of nowhere, literally and metaphorically. The weather had been pretty awful for the last week, and it was deteriorating further in direct proportion to Gerald's mood. The damned priest had avoided him at all costs so far, hiding in cabin when he wasn't busying himself with discussing their course and the dangers of their journey with Captain Rozca and his new pilot, and the adept was rapidly running out of his already scarce patience. On top of his misfortune those weird dreams had started again, but to make matters worse now he woke up each and every time just before reaching the point of no return, a very unpleasant experience on a ship where he didn't have access to a cold bath at any time. Unfortunately the present night wasn't an exception of the rule, and in the absence of a better alternative taking care of the jarring problem himself in a most businesslike fashion seemed a somewhat reasonable course of action.

Steeling himself to the seemingly inevitable if he wanted at least a few hours of undisturbed sleep Hawthorne's hand crept downwards to the fly of his pajamas, but he was just beginning to warm to the experience when the door of his cabin flew open and Vryce stumbled over the threshold, soaked to the skin. "Rozca just informed me that he's expecting a disastrous squall line, Hawthorne. Can't help but noticing some very glum faces around me, and if you have to work things out with God it might be the appropriate moment now. Maybe you won't get another..." Finally done wiping the water from his eyes and taking in the somewhat unexpected scene presenting itself the warrior knight stopped in mid-sentence and gaped, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

Mortified that Vryce had caught him in that most private moment Gerald forced his mien into a semblance of utter innocence, but he was well aware that he wouldn't be able to fool the priest for a second. His hand in his pants didn't leave much to the imagination after all, and even the most unworldly ascetic wouldn't have needed a second guess concerning the kind of activity he had abandoned himself to before he had been so rudely interrupted.

"What a pity you didn't bring your wife along", the priest blurted out cantankerously. "If you need satisfaction that badly why don't you try your luck with one of the young sailors instead? The loneliness at sea makes strange bedfellows, and finding a willing lover shouldn't be a problem for someone with your ability for beguiling naive victims."

That did it, and the beast inside him awakening from his slumber with a ferocious roar Gerald jumped out of the bunk and crossed the distance to the priest in three long strides. "You've got quite the gall to accuse me of _'beguiling naive victims'_, Vryce!" he snapped viciously, the tip of his nose a mere inch away from Damien's wet face. "I can't help wondering whether you're speaking from your own experience. What about that blond brat who keeps dancing attendance on you like your personal lapdog? Certainly you are a very lonely man yourself to divert that far from your usual preferences."

"Preferences? What kind of ... dear God in Heaven! How _dare_ you say that, you corrupted son of a bitch? Damn you, Hawthorne!"

Having finally processed the implications of Gerald's outburst the warrior knight went white as a sheet, his hands balled into fists as if he were desperately trying to prevent himself from wringing a certain delicate neck. During their travels Gerald had seen his companion infuriated, completely exhausted and filthy, terrified out of his wits and desperate beyond words, but never ever Vryce had looked so completely beside himself. The unbridled rage twisting twisting those rugged features into a grimace of hatred was frightening, and expecting a blow of worse the adept braced himself for the impending attack, but it never came. To his astonishment all at once the tension went out of Damien's bulky frame, and his eyes were filling with tears.

"In fact I've been lonely all my life", the warrior knight choked out miserably, "but distracted by my devotion to God I didn't realize it until it was too late."

Raised under the thumb of a cruel father determined to beat his _'demonic possession'_ out of him and constantly abused by eight no less beastly brothers without a single soul to turn to while his infant brain was desperately fighting to cope with the seductive whisper of the fae the adept could have told Vryce a thing or two about solitude but thought better of it. Only Gannon had known the whole truth about his appalling childhood, and if Gerald had his way that wouldn't change anytime soon. Be it as it may making sense of the priest's sudden mood-swing evidently was a more urgent task than briefing his irascible companion on events which had happened a thousand years ago. "You're speaking in riddles, Vryce", Hawthorne retorted with enforced calm, "and I'm not in the mood for unravelling mysteries."

"Well, that's a first!" Damien laughed bitterly. "You want to hear the plain truth? Suit yourself! The one and only human being I've ever loved, truly loved, left me behind when I wasn't needed anymore, and now I've lost both my vocation and my love. A cruel twist of fate, isn't it?"

With a sinking heart Gerald realized that very likely he had completely misinterpreted the situation. "So you're still hankering after the good old times with your pretty loremaster? Surely the lady Ciani..."

"Cut the crap, Gerald! I'm neither talking about Cee nor about the vulking man in the moon. I could have fallen in love with her, I don't deny that, but before it got serious a horde of nasty demons and the Hunter made their appearance, and things never were quite the same again. In a way you were right though when you accused me of consorting with that cabin boy, may God forgive you. I had never fancied a man before I set eyes on the Hunter's beautiful visage, but my _preferences_ indeed seem to have changed far beyond anything I would have thought possible. I... I cared deeply for him", Vryce went on hoarsely, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the wooden cabin floor, "desired him so badly I feared I would go mad with longing, but blinded by my religious prejudices I denied my love for him until matters were taken out of my hands. You can't imagine how often I cursed myself for keeping quiet about my feelings. Of course he was as straight as you are and would have very likely laughed up his sleeve at my futile infatuation, but yet..."

Damien trailed off with a shrug, and the adept swallowed convulsively. So Karril _had_ been right after all, and the warrior knight's touching confession and the unveiled despair in his low voice struck a chord with him he had thought dead and buried for good when he had resigned himself to slaughtering his wife and children. His heart singing a song long forgotten Hawthorne decided that the time for putting his cards on the table had finally come. "Perhaps you're jumping to unverified conclusions once again, Vryce. Instead of wallowing in self-pity you had better considered that both Gerald Tarrant and I never had a marked preference for a certain gender. Why do you think I sought you out on Black Ridge Pass in spite of the dangers and boarded this wretched vessel? For the sake of recklessly hurling myself into another potentially lethal adventure?"

For what felt like a small eternity Damien just stared at him in baffled incomprehension, but after a while the sadness in his eyes slowly but surely was giving way to a faint spark of hope. "Tell me then, Gerald", he whispered gently, the low words barely audible over the gusts of wind. "I've had it up to here with riddles as well, and I'd like to hear it from you own mouth. Why _are_ you here?"

Before Hawthorne could brace himself up for an answer a wave stronger than the previous ones hit the boat, and stumbling against the former priest he instinctively held on to the bulky frame which had carried him out of harm's reach on more occasions than he cared to count. Vryce's clothes were drenched in rain water, but the sturdy body below them was warm although not in the least scorching hot enough to explain the sudden surge of heat spreading from his hands all the way down to his abdomen.

The colour rising in his face for the first time in centuries Gerald realized that struggling for balance he had dug his fingers into pleasantly muscular buttocks, but the firm flesh in his hands felt so enticingly good that he just couldn't bring himself to release his grip. Under different circumstances he might have amused himself at the distinctively sheepish expression on the handsome features and the visible hammering of the pulse in Damien's neck, but so close to the object of his desire he was much too occupied with inhaling his companion's musky scent and glorying in the feel of the male body pressed tightly against his own. Notwithstanding he still owned his companion a reply, and remembering the old saying that all in love and war was fair the adept settled for letting his actions do the talking and captured the warrior knight's mouth with a kiss.

Vryce lips opened without hesitation, and when their tongues met the glowing embers of Gerald's arousal were rekindled to a blazing flame. Trembling under the onslaught of naked need he was but dimly aware that they were tumbling onto the bunk, their limbs entangled and their hands hastily pushing bothersome garments away without sparing a thought on the structural integrity of buttons and laces. Then determined fingers found their goal and stroked in a tantalizingly slow rhythm which made him pant and arch up into the touch, and he very nearly came undone. If the priest continued stimulating him thus he wouldn't last another minute, but although his body was screaming for release the simple act of mutual masturbation wasn't quite what he had in mind.

With his looks and the additional bonus of basking in the king's favour the adept could have bedded countless of women and men alike in his time if he had so chosen, and most of his contemporaries would have been surprised to learn that he had contented himself with taking just three lovers in his whole life so far, his present wife included. Gannon had been the first he had willingly lain with, and even after all those years he vividly remembered the nigh to unbearable feeling of pleasure when his lover had moved inside him, making him come again and again until he had thought he would die from sheer bliss.

The mere thought of repeating those delightful experiences with Vryce was sending a shiver of lustful anticipation down his spine, but before he could get down to business Gerald suddenly remembered that in the end he _had_ almost died and that the sensations involved had been anything but blissful. As the warrior knight's countenance was replaced by the mental image of his youthful self convulsing with pain on a filthy, bloodied straw mattress the adept stilled his lover's insistent hand and drew back, petrified with horror.

"Gerald? Gerald, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

Vryce had never hurt him and probably never would, but evidently he was still bleeding from a nigh to fatal injury he had received long ago. Bitter hatred was welling up inside him anew, as fresh as acrid as if it had been yesterday and not a thousand years ago. Whether undead or alive Gerald had never felt a shred of remorse concerning the killing of his despicable siblings, but he regretted wholeheartedly that the monster who had sired him had kicked the bucket before he had the chance to lay his hands on him. He would have made that bastard scream just the way he himself had screamed in that accursed dungeon cell, would have brought his worst fears alive for him again and again while feasting on his blood and terror alike until his despicable progenitor had payed the ultimate price for his sickening cruelty towards his own flesh and blood.

Strong hands shaking him with a vengeance thankfully brought him back to the here and now, and opening his eyes he hadn't even realized squeezing shut Hawthorne found Damien staring at him with unveiled concern. "Gerald, for God's sake, answer me! What the hell's going on? You're shaking like a leaf!"

"It's nothing", the adept replied with feigned nonchalance. "I just wonder if you could get us some oil from the galley."

"Oil?" The priest blinked. "Why on Earth and Erna do you need some oil in the middle of the night?"

Gerald raised an elegantly arched eyebrow. "Let me assure you that I don't have the slightest intention to dress a salad, Vryce. And now make an educated guess and get me what I want. I'm running out of patience."

After Damien was gone Hawthorne tried to regain his composure. The courageous, battle-hardened warrior knight had blushed furiously when the penny had finally dropped, and he couldn't help but envying him for an innocence he himself had lost far too early. In fact there was no need for fetching oil or anything else for that matter. A small flask was safely stored in his carry-on luggage, but he had sent Vryce on that useless errand because he required some time to come to terms with himself.

After his final shape-shift in the bowels of the Hunter's keep he had forced himself to shun Damien for fear that a renewal of their acquaintance would jeopardize his life, but although he was loth to admit it that was only half the truth. For centuries he had buried the memories of the decidedly unfunny trick the fae had pulled on him in his youth under layers and layers of corruption beyond human reckoning, but back in his mortal existence they were reemerging from the abysmal depths of his mind very much against his will, and by now Gerald suspected that his visceral horror of having to go through all that crap once again had played a more important part in his decision to abandon his former ally on Black Ridge Pass than his latest compact.

Heaving a sigh from the bottom of his soul the adept rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on his hands, pondering his options. His entire life he had been extremely disapproving of the excessive usage of the word 'love', but there was no denying that he didn't just desire Damien's body but cherished that brave, honourable soul who had descended into the fiery realms of hell in order to succour him. With good reason the God of Pleasure had warned him against letting the losses of an era long gone by clouding his judgement and blowing his last chance, and for once Gerald felt inclined to take his advice despite his compunctions. The past was the past, but there were a thousand possible futures,and wherever their road would lead them they would walk it together. His decision finally made the adept relaxed and closed his eyes, his last thoughts before the rolling of the waves was slowly lulling him to sleep on the priest.

Almost instantaneously Hawthorne sank into a most pleasant erotic dream. Damien was kissing him again, devotedly sucking at his tongue in the same irresistible rhythm his hand was gliding up and down a little bit further southwards until he thought he couldn't take it any longer without exploding. He was close now, so very close, but somehow his desire to come with Vryce buried deeply inside him got through to his unconscious mind and jolted him out of his sleep.

Blinking his eyes open Gerald's gaze fell on the grinning priest who had evidently seized the opportunity to rid himself of his soaked garments and had joined him on the bunk again. With regard to the oiled fingers still closed around him obviously not all of his dream had been a mere product of his overheated imagination, and trembling with naked want the adept snaked out of his trousers and rolled on top of his lover in one single, fluent motion. Experience had taught him that going on all fours usually provided a better angle for what he had in mind, but even after all those years which had passed since he had last been with a man he remembered that he had always preferred to straddle Gannon and ride both of them to seventh heaven. Being on top left him in absolute control of the proceedings, and in the aftermath of the occurrences which had made his childhood a living hell dictating what was coming to pass represented a very desirable concept indeed.

Applying the oil to the strategically important parts of Vryce's anatomy was the work of a moment, but before he could put his plans into action big, calloused hands grabbed his hips and stilled his motions. "Gerald, I won't pretend that I know much about making love to a man," Damien muttered uneasily, "but don't you agree that a certain amount of, well, preparation might be advisable?"

Of course the priest was right, but in his current state Hawthorne just couldn't bring himself to waste precious time on the standard operating procedure. Very likely the first penetration after nigh to ten centuries would hurt, but undoubtedly he had had worse both at the hands of his blood relatives and the sworn enemies they had battled over the last years. His heart warmed by Damien's concern the adept sealed his mouth with a kiss and lowered himself onto his lover's erection with a wistful sigh.

At first it _did_ hurt, but Gerald didn't let himself be put off and drew a few deep breaths, deliberately relaxing his muscles. After a few seconds the pain faded to a tolerable slight burn, and he started to move slowly, twisting his hips until he found what he was looking for. Good God, having a woman after all those years of enforced sexual abstinence had been a truly enjoyable experience, but it was nothing compared to the feel of Vryce's penis hitting that spot inside him again and again until his breath was coming in short, ragged gasps. Unlike less versatile men he had taken to this kind of stimulation right from the beginning, but the mind-blowing pleasure he was experiencing now surpassed everything he remembered from the distant days of his youth.

Drowning in a wave of sheer ecstasy Hawthorne was barely aware that his outcry of release was mingling with the howling gusts, and before he could come halfway to his senses again Damien turned round and buried him under his bulk. For a moment the adept very nearly panicked as old memories of utter helplessness were resurfacing with a vengeance, but his needs not in the least assuaged he realized that he actually didn't give a damn. Vryce had always thought of himself last, and he trusted him more than he had trusted anybody in his whole life, his royal lover and his wives included.

His body reacting to the rhythmical thrusts with frightening intensity it didn't take long until he was soaring on the black wings of the tempest again, screaming into Damien's broad chest as the next wave of pleasure was rolling through his abdomen, and still the the warrior knight didn't stop but kept up the pace. His gaze locked on his lover's enraptured features the adept moaned ecstatically. Vryce truly never failed to surprise him, and he would be damned if he didn't make the best of his lover's amazing stamina.

As the storm the sailors had dreaded was directly over their heads they were almost flung out of the bunk, but rapidly approaching the third orgasm in a row the adept couldn't have cared less about the raging elements. Nothing that had happened in his wet dreams could hold a candle to reality, and when the priest finally reached his climax, sobbing his name over and over again, Gerald dug his nails into strong shoulders and surrendered to the sensations as well.

Hours later Hawthorne woke up, still safely cradled in strong, brawny arms. With regard to the fact that the Enterprise had stopped bucking like a wild unhorse they evidently weren't destined to end up as fish fodder yet, but to his astonishment tears were running down the warrior knight's cheeks, and the beautiful hazel eyes were gazing at him with such yearning and love that he very nearly gave in to a rare bout of sentimentality himself. "You alright, Vryce?" the adept forced out pass the growing lump in his throat.

Damien smiled through his tears. "Don't worry, Gerald. In fact I've never felt better. Talked to Rozca an hour ago, and he assured me that we were just hit by the offshoot of the storm. The weather's fine now, and we're back on course." Tenderly the former priest brushed a strand of raven black hair out of Hawthorne's face. "I don't know how you're really feeling about it", he went on softly, "but you ought to know that if we had sunk last night I would have died a happy man. I love you, and for my part we can repeat this again and again until we're both old and grey."

Still completely blissed out Gerald couldn't have agreed more. Although he urgently needed a good long soak in the wretched tub standing in for a proper bath cuddling up to Vryce's scarcely clad body elicited certain longings anew which bore no connection whatsoever to hot water and soap. Smiling invitingly the adept pushed back the blanket and pulled his lover on top of him.


End file.
